


Red Dress Beneath the Trees

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Cannibalism, Cunnilingus, Death and Resurrection, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Ritual Sacrifice, Ritual Sex, Scars, Vivisection, throat slitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24582628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Sabrina has been having some odd dreams.
Relationships: Sabrina Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	Red Dress Beneath the Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacewitchescantdie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewitchescantdie/gifts).



> I saw your prompt and couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy!

Sabrina Spellman walked barefoot through the halls of Baxter High, and she stared up at the trees. There weren't usually trees growing alongside the lockers of her high school, and usually she was wearing shoes. The linoleum was cold and smooth under the soles of her feet, and the sounds of her feet seemed to be echoing in the small space. The hallway stretched out infinitely, but she was making some progress, slowly and carefully. She could smell the green and decay of the forest, and a copper-iron tang lingering under all of it, worming its way through her head and settling in the back of her throat.

There was a door in front of her now, and it had always been there. Or maybe it hadn't been, but the history around it had changed, made it so that it had always been there. 

Sabrina was aware, in a distant sort of way, that she was dreaming. Or maybe she was doing something beyond dreaming, because dreams could be glimpses into Elsewhere. 

The door in front of her opened, and she walked into a clearing in a forest that was also Miss Wardwell's office, with its crowded shelves and the trees whispering in the breeze. The smell of brimstone and metal and furniture polish and old books and soil all wrapped around her like a blanket, and her body relaxed in spite of itself. 

Miss Wardwell was sitting at her desk, but her face was different; her hair was different. She looked up into Sabrina's face, and her eyes reflected some unseen light back like a cat's. 

"Sabrina," said Miss Wardwell, only it wasn't just Miss Wardwell, and something about the harmonics of her voice sent goosebumps up and down her spine, breaking out across her skin in waves. She was in a white dress, Sabrina realized with some surprise. White lace, with a bow at the waist, and lace across her collarbones. It was... important, but she couldn't explain why she knew it was important. When she looked too closely at it, it seemed to blur. 

"You asked me to come see you?" Sabrina's voice didn't seem to be coming from her, but she recognized it. She was watching herself from a distance, and she could see her own lips moving. They were red, redder than heart's blood, and her hair was almost white. 

"I heard that you were interested in pursuing something new," said Miss Wardwell. "You had some doubts about your upcoming commencement?" 

_If we don't say that it's my Dark Baptism, the Dark Lord won't know that we're talking about it_ , thought Sabrina, with the sudden clarity that came with dreams. 

"I worry about committing myself to someone I don't know," said Sabrina. "Someone so... different from me."

"You could commit yourself to me," Miss Wardwell said, and she said it so casually. "You know me, don't you?"

"I feel like I could know you better," Sabrina said, and she was walking closer to the desk. Miss Wardwell had come around it at some point - Sabrina had missed it, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she was close enough that the skirt of her white dress was brushing against the hem of Miss Wardwell's pencil skirt, and she was looking into her teacher's eyes. 

"I'm all for getting to know someone," said Miss Wardwell, and then her lips were pressing against Sabrina's. 

Miss Wardwell's skin was warm, so warm through her dress, and her hands like brands on Sabrina's hips. She tasted like lipstick and metal, like something hot and bright. Sabrina's tongue swiped at her lips, and then Miss Wardwell's own was in her mouth, and Miss Wardwell's hair was knotted in her fingers. 

_To know someone, in the biblical sense, is to know their body and their self_ , narrated Sabrina's inner monologue, as she was turned around, the backs of her thighs pressing into the lip of the desk. She was clutching her teacher's shoulders now, dark blue fabric bunching up under her fingers, and shaking. 

There was a power pacing around the boundaries of the office, the clearing. There was something with hooves and rank, steamy breath that was trying to get in. Sabrina wanted to break the kiss to pay attention to it, because ignoring it seemed dangerous. What if it got into this safe little enclave, fenced in by trees and bookshelves? But then there were hands on her face, and those hands were cupping her breasts, thumbs on her nipples.

"Pay attention to _me_ ," Miss Wardwell said sharply. "I'll keep you safe. I'll protect you from anything." She pressed kisses down the line of Sabrina's jaw, to her shoulder. 

"I'm scared," Sabrina said, and she hated how pitiful she sounded, how young.

"I know," said Miss Wardwell, "but if you promise yourself to me, I'll keep you safe." She turned Sabrina around, bent her over. It was all one fluid motion, as if she did this often, and Sabrina looked down at the papers on the desk, saw book reports on Dante's _Inferno_ and discussions on the liturgy for a Black Mass. She sighed as the back of her skirt was pushed up, and a hand was gripping her backside, squeezing one cheek.

"You're my teacher," Sabrina said, and she shuddered as the tip of one finger was pressed between her labia, up through the thin cotton. 

"Teachers protect their charges," said Miss Wardwell. Her fingers wormed their way under the elastic. The tips pressed against Sabrina's clit, and Sabrina's hips jerked back. "And I can be more than a teacher to you."

Sabrina's brow furrowed. There were eyes staring out from between the trees, among all of the bookshelves. Some of them reflected the light back at her. Some of them seemed to swallow it all back up. "An adviser?" 

There was a snort, a puff of hot air across the back of Sabrina's neck. "A mentor," said Miss Wardwell, "to start with, at least." Two fingers pressed inside of Sabrina's cunt, and she squeezed around them, her head tilting back and her hips jerking hopelessly. She'd never had anything inside of her, and it was foreign and _right_ in a way she'd never considered before. 

"I'm supposed to save myself," Sabrina murmured, as Miss Wardwell's thumb circled over her clit, again and again, sending jolts of pleasure up her back. "until my -"

"It isn't real," said Miss Wardwell. "Nothing is real, until it is." She pressed herself against Sabrina's back, pulling Sabrina upright, forcing her fingers in deeper. She bit Sabrina's neck, hard enough to draw blood, and she crooned deep in the back of her throat. "Love me, Sabrina."

Sabrina grabbed wildly behind her, clutching at Miss Wardwell's arms, at her dress. She was lost in a fog of lust and terror, as the growling from outside of the ring of trees seemed to be getting louder. The eyes were getting bigger. 

"I love you," Sabrina said, and the words fell out of her mouth like stones, clattered down on the desk like metal. There was a dagger on the dark surface now, and it shone brightly. She whimpered as the fingers inside of her _curled_ , pressed down on something that made her see bursts of dark light behind her eyes, joining the brightness radiating out from her clit. 

"Do you trust me?" There was cold metal pressed against Sabrina's throat, and the terror seemed to be trying to crawl out of her, as her cunt clutched Miss Wardwell's fingers that much tighter.

"Yes," Sabrina sobbed, as the snarling grew louder, and... something began to advance past the trees. 

"Remember that," Miss Wardwell whispered in Sabrina's ear, and then she drew the dagger across Sabrina's throat, so fast it didn't even sting.

* * *

Sabrina woke up to the sensation of blood sheeting down her chest, her cunt twitching and spasming around nothing as she came, her hips jerking desperately as she rode out the pleasure, clutching the sheets as her back arched, feet planted.

She lay under her covers, panting, her hair sticking to her face with sweat and tears dripping down her face. When she reached down to the front of her pajama shirt, she found it sweaty, but without any blood. She was still shaking - she could almost feel the tickle of the blood drying, but there wasn't anything there. She shoved a hand between her legs, and found herself wet and open, as if she'd been masturbating - she'd only ever made herself come from humping a pillow, and she'd never come that fast before. Hadn’t ever come in her sleep before. 

“Must be nervous about the big event,” Sabrina said into her empty room, and she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up.

* * *

There was a mark on Sabrina’s neck. It looked like a scar, healed over from some long ago injury - a long, dark slash, like someone had run a knife from one ear to the other. It hadn’t been there when she’d gone to sleep, and it felt oddly numb when she ran her fingers across it. She frowned, and then she took a green and purple crocheted scarf, tying it around her neck carefully, making sure that it sat right. It had been a gift from Roz’s grandmother, by way of Roz. 

Aunt Hilda looked at her sidelong when she came downstairs for breakfast, but Ambrose was talking about the new murder victim, and Aunt Zelda had dozens of plans for the Dark Baptism, so Sabrina kept her mouth shut and ate her breakfast. If her aunties noticed anything, they probably assumed it was nerves.

She should have said something - waking up with a scar, after dreaming of your own death, could _not_ be a good omen. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. There had been something so intimate about the moment, about her orgasm and her death, all mingling together. So she stared down at her pancakes and chewed, letting the sweetness of the syrup linger on her tongue, and she tried not to squirm as she remembered the sensation of Miss Wardwell’s fingers filling her up. 

* * *

“What a lovely scarf you have there, Sabrina,” Miss Wardwell said, as Sabrina made her way down the hallway.

Sabrina blinked at her, and for a moment the woman in front of her was the woman from her dream, all shining eyes and bright teeth. Then the woman in front of her was her teacher - her teacher wearing an uncharacteristically low cut dress, to be sure, with a brighter lipstick and her hair down, but still her teacher.

“Oh, thank you,” said Sabrina, and she flushed, as Miss Wardwell moved into her personal space. They were the only two people in the hallway, and it seemed to be very long, all of a sudden. There was the sensation of being trapped, but was she trapped by Miss Wardwell caging her into the lockers, or by the very building above her?

Sabrina could smell floor wax, dust, the boiling stink of too many teenagers pressed together. There was a deeper under-scent, something like metal, something like soil, something like brimstone. She stared up at Miss Wardwell, eyes wide, and Miss Wardwell smiled back at her. 

“I think the knot is coming loose, though,” said Miss Wardwell. “Let me help you with that.”

Her fingers were very warm, as they went to the scarf around Sabrina’s neck. She carefully untied it, and she smoothed the fabric out. “This particular stitch is called a lover’s knot,” she said. “The lover’s knot, or Solomon’s knot.” 

“Lover’s knot,” Sabrina echoed. She could feel Miss Wardwell’s breath on her face, as the older woman carefully adjusted her scarf. “Was… Solomon much of a lover, then?” Too late, she remembered the scar on her throat. Her hands were still at her sides, and she could smell metal and perfume. If she blinked, she could almost see trees looming over them, whispering boughs casting shadows over Miss Wardwell’s face. 

“No, he wasn’t,” said Miss Wardwell, and there was a weariness to her voice. “But,” she added, “it really is a lovely stitch, isn’t it?” 

Sabrina nodded. It was very hard to breathe. The tip of Miss Wardwell’s finger was pressing the edge of the scar on her throat, There was a flash of warmth, and Sabrina shuddered, her nipples getting hard and her clit starting to throb desperately. Her cheeks must have been bright red, and she wanted to turn her face up and kiss Miss Wardwell, to see if it was anything like the dream. 

“There we go,” Miss Wardwell said, as she carefully draped the scarf loosely around Sabrina’s neck, over her shoulders. “Much better.” She gave a smile, and had her teeth always been that bright, that sharp? “Don’t you have a class to get to, Sabrina dear?”

“R-right,” said Sabrina, and her voice was rough. She cleared her throat, licked her lips with her dry tongue. “Thanks, Miss Wardwell.”

“Of course,” said Miss Wardwell. “I’m your teacher, Sabrina,” she said. “You can always trust me.” 

It was an eerie echo of the dream, and it left Sabrina’s head spinning as her teacher walked off. 

* * *

In another dream, Sabrina lay on a table. 

She was aware, tangentially, that she was lying in her bed in the same position, flat on her back like a corpse, her hands folded over the blankets and across her chest as if in prayer. But the metal of the autopsy table was cold, leaching through her pajamas.

“Do you trust me?” Miss Wardwell stood by the small table that held the instruments, picking through them. 

“I do,” said Sabrina, because it was true. She was surprisingly calm, even as the overhead light shone in her eyes and the cool air of the fan ruffled her hair. 

“How much do you trust me, Sabrina?” Miss Wardwell was beside her now, and she was carefully moving Sabrina’s hands down, to rest on the flat of the table. Sabrina found, with some surprise, that she could move. She just didn’t want to. She twitched the tips of her fingers, flexed her hands, then went slack. 

“I trust you like my teacher,” Sabrina said, because it was true. “I trust you like a lover’s knot.” 

There was a flicker - the green and purple scarf hanging around Miss Wardwell’s neck, clashing horrible with the red dress, the white lab coat. Then it was gone, and it was just Miss Wardwell looking down at Sabrina, all narrowed eyes and lips redder than red. 

“My beloved is mine, and I am hers,” Miss Wardwell was beginning to unbutton Sabrina’s pajama shirt, button by button. Her hands were still so warm, and her touch was so gentle, so gentle that it opened up some kind of _ache_ in Sabrina’s heart that she couldn’t account for. “Since we’re discussing Solomon.” She paused in her unbuttoning to take Sabrina’s hand in her own, kissing the back of it. 

“I don’t know Solomon,” said Sabrina. She slipped her fingers into Miss Wardwell’s mouth, and pressed them against the sharp teeth. Much sharper than they should have been, if this was reality. There was a bloom of pain, like a rosebud opening, and then Miss Wardwell’s tongue was lapping at the pads of her fingers. 

Miss Wardwell took Sabrina’s fingers out of her mouth and licked the pad. Her tongue came away red, and there was more redness dripping down Sabrina’s arm, slipping under the sleeve of Sabrina’s pajama shirt and tickling her inner elbow. Little spots of it could be seen leaking into the fabric, like wildflowers dotting up amongst the grass in a meadow. 

“You wouldn’t have liked him,” said Miss Wardwell. “But do you trust me?” She had unbuttoned Sabrina’s shirt all the way down now, pushing it open. Sabrina’s belly was pale in the fluorescent light, and her nipples were pink and hard in the cool air. 

_Is every corpse that we prepare loved this fiercely?_ “I trust you,” Sabrina said. 

Miss Wardwell was on top of her now, sitting on her thighs, and the weight of her was heavy, warm. It pinned Sabrina to the table, forcing the cold metal against her skin. She was sweating, clammy dampness gathering in her armpits and on the backs of her knees, slipping down her ribs. 

“Do you love me?” Miss Wardwell pressed the scalpel to Sabrina’s belly, and moved it up. It was like cutting through butter, and somehow it didn’t hurt.

“I love you,” Sabrina said, and she didn’t know if she was talking about the crush she’d been harboring for the nervous looking woman who made the same weak joke every week, or the fierce, terrifying ache that was building in her guts for whatever it was that was wearing her teacher’s face. 

“Say it again,” said Miss Wardwell (or whoever this was). The scalpel was moving up further, between Sabrina’s breasts, and it didn’t hurt. Why didn’t it hurt?

“I love you,” Sabrina said, and the words seemed to fill the room like ether. The walls seemed to be shimmering. Sometimes there were trees, and she was lying on the stone table in the middle of the forest. Only it was also the metal. Those same shining eyes stared out at her, pushing at the foundations of the walls. 

“How much do you love me?” Miss Wardwell’s hand slid into the space between Sabrina’s breasts. “What would you give me?”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” Sabrina said. Miss Wardwell's hand was ticklish and warm inside of her. Miss Wardwell's hand was on her heart, and then Miss Wardwell was pulling it free, the way Aunt Hilda pulled a chicken heart out of the chest cavity.

And now they were in the kitchen, and the great table that Hilda prepared countless meals on. Miss Wardwell was sitting on Sabrina’s thighs, and the meat grinder was behind her, lurking like a promise. 

“Sabrina dear,” said Miss Wardwell, “don’t make promises like that to just anyone.” She held the heart up to the light, and it beat away in her hand. “I’ll have a little bit of this, for safekeeping,” she said, and she peeled a section off, like someone splitting a piece of an orange. She tilted her head back, and she swallowed down the fragment, like a pelican with a fish. 

_Pelicans were a symbol of the son of the False God_ , narrated some part of Sabrina’s mind. It sounded a little bit like Aunt Zelda. _Mortals believed that the birds would stab their own breasts to feed their young with their own blood, as the Nazarene sacrificed himself for their sins._

“You’re not anyone,” Sabrina said. She couldn’t hear her heartbeat in her ears, couldn’t feel her pulse thudding away in her wrists. She should have been dead, but Miss Wardwell (the thing shaped like Miss Wardwell) was keeping her alive. 

“I’m not,” said Miss Wardwell. She leaned over Sabrina, and she was still holding Sabrina’s heart. “This is going to be hard, because you’ve died, but I’m going to need you to swallow it back down.”

“Can’t you put it back in like you did before?” Sabrina blinked. Her chest wasn’t gaping open anymore - it was closed, sealed shut as smoothly as bread dough. 

There was something moving in the darkness on the edges of Sabrina’s vision, and there were more trees rustling, behind the kitchen cabinets.

“No,” said Miss Wardwell. “I changed it. Once you've changed, you have to find a new way.” She held the meaty bundle of Sabrina’s self to her lips, and Sabrina opened her mouth, opened it wider than wide, until her jaw creaked. The pain of it was enough to make her stir in her bed, but she swallowed anyway, as the thick muscle slid down her throat, settled in her guts. It was hard - the hardest thing that she’d ever done. Muscles had begun to go into rigor mortis, and she hadn’t even realized it. There were tears dripping down her face as she focused, bringing life back into her own body as her heart beat desperately inside of her, bringing every bit of her flesh back to throbbing, desperate vitality. 

“Find a new way,” Sabrina whispered. Something about being alive again, when she hadn’t even realized she was dead, was surging through her. She ground her hips up, seeking some kind of relief, and Miss Wardwell laughed. 

“Needy little witchling,” she said, and her tone was affectionate. “It’s a gift to be alive, isn’t it?” She bent down, and she kissed Sabrina on the mouth, her tongue running over Sabrina’s lips, across Sabrina’s own teeth. She had to be tasting Sabrina’s blood, as her hands raked across Sabrina’s torso, over the scar on Sabrina’s middle. Her nails were painted the same color as Sabrina’s heart. The nails on her left hand were clipped short and blunt, while the nails on her right hand were sharp, and they sliced thin lines down Sabrina’s side, over her ribs. “Make yourself come for me, darling. Lie in your virgin’s bed, and make yourself come for the one you love the most.”

* * *

Sabrina woke up, sweating and panting. Her shirt was still buttoned up, and when she shoved it open, she found a raised scar along her belly, up between her breasts. Would it be as dark as the slash around her neck? 

_Make yourself come_ , echoed through Sabrina’s head, as she grabbed her breast with one hand and shoved her other hand between her legs. She kicked her blankets off, took her pajama pants with them, and she rubbed her clit desperately, panting up at the ceiling. When she closed her eyes, she could remember the sight of her heart in Miss Wardwell’s hand, dripping more blood down her teacher’s arm. She imagined lapping it up, as she rolled her hips up to meet her hand. Her index finger rubbed her clit quickly, in little figure eights, and her other hand pinched and twisted her nipple, the way she’d wanted Miss Wardwell to.

_What if she had sucked on my nipple, what if she had bitten me, what if she had eaten me out, what if she’d eaten me, period?_

The image of Miss Wardwell’s eyes glitter up at her from between her thighs, the sensation of Miss Wardwell’s tongue on her clit, the way it had lapped at her fingers… Sabrina fell, as hard as Lucifer had fallen from grace.

Her first orgasm hit her like a blackjack to the back of the head, and it rode through her like a shockwave. She whimpered, hips jerking, and she squeezed her eyes shut and let the pleasure fill her to the brim. She came again a few minutes later, two fingers in her cunt, working her clit over with her other hand, and she was mouthing _I love you_ as her nerves sang and screamed. Her third orgasm squeezed her fingers so tight they cramped, and her fourth one left her so wrung out she could only sigh as she kept rubbing her clit. 

By the time she pulled her wrinkled, damp fingers free, she couldn’t do anything but fall back asleep. Her whole bedroom smelled like sex, but there was a faint meaty, metallic smell under it all. She could almost taste it, on the tip of her tongue, as she drifted back to sleep.

* * *

“Did you have bad dreams last night, cousin?” Ambrose looked at Sabrina over his bacon and eggs, as she nervously adjusted her scarf and made sure her buttons were done all the way up. The new scar ran from her sternum to her groin, and was just as dark as the slash across her throat. 

“No,” Sabrina said. “No, no, no bad dreams. No dreams at all. Excellent lack of dreams.” She shoved a piece of bacon into her mouth, to keep from babbling anymore, and kept her eyes on her plate to avoid Ambrose’s canny expression. 

“Might be bad luck, no dreams so close to your Dark Baptism,” said Aunt Hilda, and she pressed a kiss to the top of Sabrina’s head and put another piece of bacon on her plate. “I had a whole string of dreams.”

“What kinds of dreams?” Sabrina took a bite of the bacon, and remembered the sensation of her own heart going down her throat. She pressed her thighs together, and tried to ignore the flush of arousal that slid through her, like ink sinking into water. 

“Oh, you know, portentous ones,” said Hilda. She leaned against the table, and she took a sip of her tea. “Weeping women with bloody hands, eggshells on ships, that sort of thing.”

“... Right,” said Sabrina, and she took another bite of eggs.

“Nothing like your dreams, then,” said Ambrose.

“I wasn’t having any dreams,” Sabrina said, and she probably said it too quickly. 

“You were making noises last night as if you were having a nightmare,” said Ambrose. “I almost went down to check on you.”

“Oh, it was just hot,” Sabrina said. “You know. The heating in this house can get like that.” She took a swig of orange juice. 

“You were complaining about being too cold the other night,” Hilda said. She was frowning. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick before your Dark Baptism. D’you want to stay home?”

“No,” Sabrina said quickly. “No, no, I’ll be fine.” She stood up quickly, adjusted her scarf, and kissed Aunt Hilda. “I’m off. Love you both, I’ll see you when I get home.” She gave an awkward little half wave, and then she was off.

* * *

Miss Wardwell gave Sabrina an appraising look the next morning, and offered her a hard candy wrapped in cellophane when they passed each other in the hall. 

Sabrina looked down at the candy, then up at Miss Wardwell, her eyebrows furrowing. She remembered the feel of Miss Wardwell’s mouth against her own, and she tried to stop the blush that flooded her cheeks. “What’s up?”

“You look uncomfortable,” Miss Wardwell said. “I’ve found sucking on a lozenge always helps with heartburn.”

Sabrina took the candy with a muttered “thank you” and made her way down the hallway, her head still buzzing.

* * *

The night before her Dark Baptism, Sabrina Spellman dreamed she wore a white dress. 

It was the same as the white dress that was hanging on the back of her closet door, and it was the last thing she had seen before she had closed her eyes. 

Somehow, she was walking out of the house. She was barefoot, and the dress swished with every step. The foggy feeling had left her - this felt real, in a way that the other dreams hadn’t - it felt realer than real, as if she’d accessed some level of reality she couldn’t even reach while she was awake. She could taste the molecules in the air, and tell the different kinds of clay under her feet, when it became loam. 

The site of her Dark Baptism - the site of her birth - was before her. Had she been so absorbed in the composition of the world around her that she had missed the steps taken to arrive at the clearing? 

She took a step into it, and she watched, enraptured, as her dress turned the same red as her heart. The same red as Miss Wardwell’s lips, where they curved in a smile, watching her in the torchlight. 

“You’re not my teacher,” Sabrina said, as she took her steps forward. The air was filling her lungs, and her heart beat in her chest, banging against her ribs. The hair on the sides of her face was ticklish, and the rustle of the leaves was almost a melody, if she only stopped to pay attention to it. 

“I could be,” said the woman who was not Mary Wardwell. “Would you like me to be?”

“Tell me your name first,” said Sabrina. 

“That’s a tall order,” said the woman. They were facing each other now, and Sabrina was looking up into her face. There was the hint of teeth behind those red, red lips, and her eyes glittered like something beyond the ring of light around an ancient campfire. There was something odd about her shadow, something Sabrina didn’t want to look too close at, for fear she would get lost in it.

“You’re asking me for a lot,” Sabrina said, although she wasn’t sure what she meant even as she said it. 

The woman threw her head back and she laughed, and her teeth were as sharp and bright as Sabrina had imagined. “So I am, I suppose,” she said, and she cupped Sabrina’s cheek, her thumb against Sabrina’s cheekbone. “Since I’m so fond of you, child, I’ll grant you that boon.” She dug her fingers in, hard enough to bruise. “But don’t push your luck.”

Sabrina hissed in pain, but she kept her eyes on the woman's’ face. She nodded. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” said the woman, then: “Lilith.”

“Lilith,” echoed Sabrina, and the name was older than apples, when it rested on her tongue. 

“Do you love me, Sabrina?” Lilith dragged her thumb down, to rest on Sabrina’s lower lip. “Do you love me, above all others?”

Sabrina took Lilith’s thumb into her mouth, and she sucked on it, her tongue tracing along the tip. “Do you want me to?” She asked, after she’d explored the blunt curve of Lilith’s nail. 

Lilith blinked, and she looked surprised. “Of course I do,” she said. “I want you to love me more than anyone else. Any _thing_ else. Hold me above all others.”

Sabrina was sitting on the stone table now, her bare feet dangling down. Her skirts, so wide and red, were spread across her lap, and Lilith was falling to her knees before her. “Why?”

“That’s a silly question,” said Lilith. She sounded distracted, as she pushed Sabrina’s dress up. “Will you love me?”

“I’d say _that’s_ a silly question,” Sabrina countered. “I already said I’d love you. That I do love you.” 

Why were they having this conversation? It was like being in the thick of a spell, and trying to fight her way out of it. But she’d know if she’d started a spell, didn’t she? 

“Loving me is complicated,” said Lilith. “It requires sacrifice. Devotion.”

There were shackles on Sabrina’s wrists, the metal heavy as it dragged her down to lie flat on the stone table, and since when had it been big enough for her to lie full length on it? She had been to other Dark Baptisms, and ordinarily it was just big enough for the book. 

“I’m devoted to you,” Sabrina said, and she meant it. Was she devoted to Lilith, to the woman whose face Lilith wore? The strange clarity was almost like a fog in its own way; Sabrina couldn’t follow her own mental pathways. She could analyze the composition of the rock she was lying on, the exact age of the Damascus steel, and the origins of the runes emblazoned on the shackles holding her wrists down. 

“Would you give your life?” There was a knife against her belly, cold and hard and sharp, even through the levels of red fabric. 

“I would give you my life,” Sabrina said, as the ritual washed over her. “I would give you my life and my virginity -”

“You did that already,” Lilith said, her voice dry. 

“I’d give it again,” Sabrina said, stubborn as anything. 

Lilith was between her legs now, pushing her thighs open, and there was a pause. “You’d go to your Dark Baptism with no undergarments?”

“I don’t remember getting dressed,” Sabrina said, which was true. She had woken up walking down the path, and here she was. 

“We’ll have to work on that,” Lilith said, and then she kissed Sabrina’s vulva, her breath ticklish as it ruffled Sabrina’s pubic hair. “You did a good job, making yourself come for me the other night.”

“I live to serve you,” Sabrina said, and she didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or not. She was sticky with arousal, and her whole body seemed to be making its desperation known at once, filling her with pulsing, throbbing need. She squirmed on the stone seat, and she wanted to press her thighs together, wanted to grind her hips together, wanted… something she hadn’t ever wanted before, but the need for it _now_ was eating her alive. 

Lilith gave a huff of amusement. “A sarcastic devotee. Just what I need.” Her tongue was hot and solid as it passed across Sabrina’s slit, wriggling between Sabrina’s labia to circle her clit, then move lower, to probe at her hole. 

Sabrina keened up at the moon, which was beating down at them, red and full. She wailed, as Lilith’s tongue flickered over her clit, and the things in the woods wailed back. Her knees were over Lilith’s shoulders now, and the skirts of her dress cascaded down the front of the table in a tumble of red tulle and satin, and Sabrina keened and wriggled as Lilith sucked and slurped, the sounds filthy and loud in the clearing. 

There were things on the outskirts - there were always things on the outskirts, just outside the trees. There was always something trying to get in, something with a great horned head, hooves that clattered, and rank, hot breath. She could feel the presence of it, on the very edges of her self. 

Lilith was closer. Lilith, with her hot mouth and solid fingers, with her tongue inside of Sabrina now, as her thumb worked over Sabrina’s clit. She was fucking Sabrina with her tongue, and she was murmuring something as well, sending some kind of psychic link through whatever connection it was they had. 

Sabrina’s heart was beating faster, and she could feel the absence of the missing piece. It was beating inside of Lilith, nourishing the infernal woman between her legs, and that woman was feeding power back to her, until she could taste the magic in the air itself. The scar on her throat burned, and she screamed at that pain of it, screamed until her voice broke. She yanked at the shackles binding her to the rock until her wrists tore, as the pleasure inside of her built and built. She shrieked as it cracked, her orgasm washing over her like a crimson tide, pulsing against Lilith’s mouth, in time with the unending beat of her own heart in her chest, in Lilith.

Lilith kept licking her, kept sucking. Lilith's fingers were inside of her now, and when Sabrina closed her eyes she could feel Lilith’s mouth all over her - Lilith’s mouth on her nipples through the lace of her dress, Lilith’s teeth digging into her lip, Lilith’s hands covering every inch of her. She belonged to Lilith, body and soul - she _loved_ Lilith with every atom of her being, and she didn't know why, or how. 

She didn’t particularly care. 

She came again, and she was so oversensitive from the pleasure of it that it sent another orgasm cascading through her, with Lilith’s cruel fingers twisting inside of her, Lilith’s mind sliding through her own like an eel in the water. 

_Give yourself to me, Sabrina, and I can promise you pleasure greater than this, something more wonderful than you can ever imagine_ , whispered the voice in her head, as more pleasure was wrenched out of her. _Pledge to me. Sign my book. Love me. Serve me. Devote yourself to me, and you will want for nothing._

“Yes!” Sabrina bawled out. “Yes! I pledge myself to you!”

“Who am I?” Lilith’s face was inches from Sabrina’s now, and her eyes shone red and bright. 

“Lilith,” Sabrina said. “Lilith, mother of demons, first wife of Adam, wanderer of the wilderness. Bringer of our - of _my_ salvation.” 

Lilith kissed her then, and sucked the air from her lungs. Another orgasm crashed through Sabrina’s body, ripped through Sabrina’s mind. Her head was screaming from the lack of air, as Lilith’s tongue pressed into her mouth, and then there was another sting across her throat, along the same scar as before. She could feel the blood dripping down the sides of her neck, puddling under her, soaking into the redness of her dress. 

The orgasm and the shock of death was strong enough that it jolted her awake, and Sabrina’s eyes flew open, as she panted on her bed, her whole body tingling and trembling. The sheets below her ass were soaked, her pajama pants slimy with her arousal. Her wrists were tender, and when she rubbed them her fingers came away wet with blood. The mark on her throat was sore, but she wasn’t bleeding from it.

And Lilith was in her bedroom, wearing her teacher’s face. She sat on the edge of Sabrina’s bed, holding a small book and a pen, and she smiled. Even in the darkness of the small room, Sabrina could see the shine of her eyes. 

“Will you sign my book, Sabrina? Will you prove your devotion to me?” She set the book on Sabrina’s covers, and she held the pen out. 

Sabrina took it with trembling hands, and she pressed the nib to the outside of her wrist, collecting blood from where the shackles had chafed her raw. She signed her name in shaking script, beneath a familiar name, although she was still too in shock to properly consider the implications of that just yet.

“So what now?” Sabrina asked. Her voice came out as a croak - she’d been screaming too much, in the dream. How was she going to explain any of this to her aunties?

“Now,” said Lilith, “we do this properly.” She snapped her fingers, and the book vanished. Then she leaned forward, and she kissed Sabrina’s mouth with her own.

It tasted just as red and sharp in the waking world.


End file.
